


Scorching Bloodlust

by aliciutza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World of Warcraft Fusion, Biting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Face-Riding, Face-Sitting, Hurt/Comfort, I had not realised up until now, I promise I made it so that it can be enjoyable for non players too, Jon as a Worgen and Dany as a Blood Elf because I think that is very sexy of them, Jon is a Blood Death Knight and Dany is a Fire Mage, Jon wears a buttload of armour and I love it, Jonerys Week, Jonerys Week 2020, Mirror Sex, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, also I was told that apparently I have a hurt/comfort kink, anyway all of this doesn't matter as much it's mostly, for people who know nothing of WoW this makes zero sense I am so sorry, fyi this is mostly set in the Lich King era because I still am very attached to it, mm yes that's a great tag, side boob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza
Summary: Dany had half a mind to turn her drake and leave the poor knight to his death. Instead she found herself landing next to him and offering help. They barely made it to the safest place she knew. But in a weird turn of events, the person she saved was not who she thought he was.She knew that her compassion would get her killed one day—she just didn't think it would be so soon.Written for JonerysWeek2020 : Day 5 - Fire and Blood
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 63
Kudos: 162





	Scorching Bloodlust

**Author's Note:**

> ...or as I like to call it, some smut set in the AU of World of Warcraft. Or more like loosely inspired, I guess. Heck, let's just call it what it is, WoW nostalgia. 
> 
> I know I am a day late but it's my brand by now, so better late than never I guess. 
> 
> I got this idea about a year ago, and I even made a [moodboard](https://adecilarts.tumblr.com/post/188640713730) for it for Jonerys AU Month 2019, but I never got around outlining something for it. This is a bit different than what I planned back then, but I still love it. Or love to hate it, as I was ready to rage quit until [atetheredmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind) did a beta run and slapped some sense into me. She's baby and I love her ❤. 
> 
> If you know the game, you'll be able to recognise some Easter eggs in this fic. You'll also notice I took some liberties with certain things, just for plot reasons. If you have no idea what WoW is, I was assured that it was still fun (and sexy).
> 
> Lastly, a big shout out to [LustOnMyFingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers) for making me the BloodElf!Dany and DeathKnight!Jon manips for the moodboard. I almost cried y'all, she's just amazing! And she's always there to listen to me ramble on and on about the good old days of BC and LoTLK 🤣. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Daenerys sat mounted on her beloved red drake, hovering above the slippery icy crater of Sindragosa’s Fall, her gloved hands holding on tightly to the map and her quest log, trying to decide where to head next. She’d learned the hard way to keep off ground when in Icecrown, because frankly, almost dying once at the hands of her enemies was enough. Not to mention the frost wyrms that were surveying the area, attacking fighters when they least expected, made the entire area nearly impossible to safely cross on foot. 

In addition to those inconveniences, it was just too fucking cold. She’d rather spend the rest of her days living in Hellfire Peninsula than have to live another moment in this godsforsaken icy desert. But coin was coin, even if it was half frozen, and she still needed more of it before she could get to her real goal. At least her magic was growing and each day she was getting better at controlling it. 

One moment she was trying to determine the fastest way to Storm Peaks, the next all hell broke loose beneath her. Steel clashed with plate in rapid movements; spells were cast; bones cracked. She almost dropped her map when the victim tried but failed to unsheath his longsword. Her loyal drake silently flapped its wings once, taking her farther up, a safe distance from a pull. 

Five against one. It was over in seconds. 

“Fucking Alliance,” she whispered to herself, just as a paladin ran the dark figure through with his sword, delivering the final blow.

They left him behind, and made their way north, presumably to the Argent Tournament Grounds, where they’d probably kill off any other Horde fighter that crossed their path.

She was ready to turn and make her way east, when the poor bastard moved. Dany hesitated; for what reason, she could not say. Wasn’t this just the way of their lives? Wasn’t their destiny sealed once they chose the path of a fighter? After all, no one made her leave Silvermoon. Yet here she was, on a merciless path of war, of fire and blood. 

The man grunted down below, struggling under the weight of his own armour. 

Mayhaps her brother was right, she was but a stupid girl. Daenerys sighed and steered the drake to land. She softly recited the well known spell, charging a blazing barrier around herself. She might be stupid, but she wasn’t dumb enough to engage with a stranger without any protection, even if he looked like he was fatally injured. She couldn’t tell yet if he was a warrior or a paladin. 

Snow melted under her feet with each step she took. “Are you alright?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t falter. When she got close enough she finally saw the markings on his armour. Daenerys gulped; judging by the runes and the skulls, he was a death knight. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to turn around and fly away. Maybe just this once she could walk past an injured fighter without helping him. 

He startled; his hand immediately closed around the pommel of his sword. Although she doubted he could muster enough runic power to damage her in any permanent way, he could still manage to swing that longsword at her and hurt her. 

The knight chuckled, “Just what I needed, a blood elf trying to loot my body. I could still kick your arse, princess.” He moved to a seated position. The stranger’s voice sounded like icicles dripping in a cave, creating a chilling echo; she shivered, in spite of the warmth of her shield. It dawned on her she hadn’t been this close to a death knight before. His voice was enough to make her blood freeze inside her veins. 

And through his helmet, his eyes blazed a brighter blue. She stilled.

Daenerys replied nonchalantly, “I would like to think that I’d be wise enough to kill you by now, instead of approaching you like an injured lamb.” 

He simply huffed, though it sounded more like icicles colliding with steel. 

She promised herself she’d ask one more time. At least then, her conscience would be clean. “I need you to promise you won’t hurt me, and I’ll help.”

“Why should I accept your kind’s help?” he spat. 

“At least my kind doesn’t kill its own.”

He stared at her for what seemed like forever, his icy blue gaze piercing through her. She squirmed under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling too exposed in her cloth armour. 

Eventually, he lowered his sword to the frozen ground and took off his black horned helmet. His eyes were just as blue without it, two cold flames flickering in the wind. His long hair was pulled back, away from his face and tied up in a bun at the back of his head. He looked like he’d been through hell, his face riddled with multiple scars, somehow only accentuating his handsome features; he didn’t look like he’d been undead for too long. 

Daenerys approached, and she cursed that her voice sounded too timorous. “I can give you one of my potions, get you going. I could conjure up some food so you’d get stronger.”

He eyed her as she pulled out the glass vial from the bag she carried around her waist and handed it to him. His fingers closed around the glass, the cold plate of his gauntlet brushing against her gloved hand. 

“You really shouldn’t be doing this, especially for someone like me.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that. But I cannot leave you behind either. Call me a fool, but I don’t understand how the Alliance can turn on its own like that.”

He sighed, as if the answer was too obvious. “They once fought against us, now we’re fighting along them, can’t blame them much for being wary.” He tried sitting up straighter but slipped back down.

“Here I can just—” Dany came closer and kneeled beside him on the hardened snow. 

“I don’t need your help,” he waved her off. 

She disagreed; Dany broke the seal of the bottle and brought it to his lips. Still, he stared at her; perhaps it was distrust, of her nature or of her faction, she wasn’t sure. Eventually, he drank. 

“Better?” she asked after he drained the bottle.

“How are you sure I am not going to attack you as soon as I regain my strength?” his icy breath touched her face, sending a chill throughout her entire body. She tried her best not to let it show. 

“I am not going to stay long enough to find out.” Daenerys rose and took several steps back. 

She never made it all the way to her drake, for as soon as she turned her back, she felt a stab in her lower back. 

“Watch out!” the knight yelled from behind her, his armour scraping against the ice, perhaps in an attempt to get up and help. She knew he’d never make it in time. 

She couldn't move. Whoever this was, she couldn’t see them, it felt like the effects of a temporary incapacitating poison. Luckily, her shield hadn’t entirely worn off; although her attacker got close enough, he also got burned, if his screams were any indication. As soon as she could move, she cast a blast wave around her, exposing the stealthed assassin—a human rogue. It slowed him down enough that she could cast fireball after fireball at him, and despite his multiple attempts, he never got as close to her as the first time. The flames consumed him, and by the time she cast the last pyroball, he was but a charred corpse. 

“Bloody rogues,” Dany winced, trying to apply pressure on her wound. It didn’t feel deep, but blood was soaking through her dress gown. 

“You need to go, he was with them before,” the knight grunted as he tried to get up, using his sword as a crutch. 

“If he’s back, the others are not far either. You’re still not recovered—” Dany didn’t know why she was trying so hard to keep her enemy alive. But she couldn’t just leave him now, could she?

“I’ll be alright, princess. Ashes to ashes,” he gave her a lopsided smile.

“None of that on my watch,” Dany expertly waved her hands around, opening a portal. “Drogon, sōves!” Her red drake screeched and took its flight. “Now come with me, while we still have time!”

This time, there was no argument; the knight picked up his helmet and sword and approached her. “Where to?”

“The safest place I know for us both—Dalaran.”

Without hesitation, she took his hand and they stepped together through the portal. 

When they came out on the other side, Daenerys realised her mistake: her portal opened in Sunreaver’s Sanctuary—the Horde-only part of the city. She had to get him out of there as soon as possible and get to the neutral part of the city. 

She snatched the helmet from his hand, got up on her tiptoes, and all but stuffed it back on his head. “Put this on and try not to attract attention.” She gave him a once over, looking for any Alliance sigils embossed on his armour. Standing so, in his full armour, shoulderplates and pauldrons, he was towering over her. As long as he kept his helmet on, he could pass as a blood elf. 

They walked together through the halls, not too slow but not too fast either, passing the guards. It was impossible to sneak by unnoticed, not with all the noise his plate armour made—the clanking and the scraping against stone sounded too loud in her ears. Or maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through her veins. As soon as they were out the main gate, he braced himself on the closest wall and slid down to the ground. 

“I know a place not far from here where you can rest.” Dany touched her own wound. At least the bleeding had stopped.

“You really don’t have to do this here,” he panted, surely exhausted after their detour. 

“I insist.” Dany squatted down and adjusted his helmet. “Keep this on for a little longer, don’t ruin my reputation as a baddie, will you?”

He grunted and she took it as a yes. 

As always, the city was packed, Alliance and Horde fighters going in and out of the numerous shops, buying new armour and selling whatever they looted off their victims, learning new skills and taking on new quests. It was the perfect location to blend in with the crowd. They finally made it out of the craziness in the Magus Commerce Exchange. Her new friend faltered, and they had to make a few breaks before they reached the Violet Citadel. Inside, Daenerys all but dragged him up the stairs, to the library, in an area she had discovered many moons ago, the first time she visited Dalaran. She would always come here after a raid, to recover and plan her next move.

She didn’t want to risk going to an inn. Rumours in Dalaran circulated too fast for her liking. 

“If you wanted to kill me, I’d rather you’d left me alone in the snowy hell of Icecrown than make me climb all the stairs on Azeroth,” he complained as they turned yet another corner to more stairs. 

“I thought death knights didn’t get tired,” she frowned. Dany stopped; they were almost there. She lifted his arm up and over her shoulder, taking off some of the weight from his tired body. Her knees buckled under the burden; she looked around one more time before they climbed the last flight of stairs. 

“Doesn’t mean I like stairs,” he grunted when they made it to the top. 

Dany heavily panted, wondering how he even walked in that armour, never mind fight. The clanking alone was enough to drive her insane. By all gods, she found enough strength to reach the last bookcase and the hidden door behind it. She directed the knight to lean against the wall while she rummaged through her bag for the iron key. He was barely holding on; soon he’d pass out. Dany slid the key through the lock and it clicked, opening to reveal a small room. 

She put his arm around her shoulder again, only to find that his stupid armour wouldn’t let them both fit through the door. He waved her off and dodged his head only fitting sideways through the threshold. Once inside, he all but collapsed on the bed. 

Daenerys herself was struggling to catch her breath, the pain settling low in her back. She inhaled slowly and deeply; she still had potions, and she’d learned first aid from the best. She could tend to him and then leave him here to recover. Sure, she’d have to abandon her secret spot, but maybe it was finally time to move on. The thought alone of going back to the icy land of Icecrown...Daenerys involuntarily shivered. 

“You need to take off your armour,” she finally said when her breathing returned back to normal. “I can’t tend to your wounds through them,” she ordered.

He grunted, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. “You do know I’m already dead, right?”

“You do know there are death knights fighting for the Horde too, right?” she mocked. 

“Why are you insisting on this nonsense?” He raised his voice, its icy bite still making her shiver. 

“You best keep quiet if you don’t want to be thrown out,” she replied instead as she rummaged again through her bag. It was a good question that Dany herself couldn't answer...or rather wouldn’t. She shook her head, chasing away the memories of another life, when she was unable to help those around her. She pulled another health potion from her bag and pushed it into the knight’s hand, “Drink it.” 

With a sigh, he took it from her and downed it all in one gulp. From the way his hand trembled, he was rapidly slipping away. “You’re insane,” she thought she heard him say as she made her way to the small wooden table and started arranging the contents of her bag on it. He put the vile on the floor and started taking off his armour. Through the large mirror she had facing the bed, she could keep an eye on him. 

His helmet came off first; as she suspected, cold sweat droplets ran down his temples, his curls damp with them. For a dead guy he was still handsome. She watched him slowly take off his gauntlets, handguards, boots, legguards and belt. When he struggled with his shoulderplates and pauldrons, Daenerys went to help. Wordlessly, she worked the clasps of his armour, until he was left in a pair of cloth pants and his tunic. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt warm. The knight seemed uncomfortable to be without his armour around her. Like this, he was still towering over her, though not as much; she knew that if he wanted he could still overpower her. 

Wary, she took a few steps back to disrobe. It was hot enough in Dalaran that she felt comfortable taking off her gloves, hood and robe, draping them over a chair. Daenerys made herself busy taking out the various bandages she had stashed in one of the cupboards. When she turned around, the knight had taken off his tunic. She averted her gaze, her cheeks suddenly too warm; she felt like a little girl, though she was no longer innocent. 

“Just lie down,” she found her voice, though it sounded too shrill to her ears. This time, he did what he was told. 

Dany pulled the other chair by the bed to look him over. It shouldn't have surprised her to see that his chest was riddled with scars—old stabwounds, by the look of them. She didn’t have the courage to ask him if they were from when he died the first time. Instead, she focused on the fresh wound in his lower abdomen. She tried not to blush when she had to lower the hem of his pants. The knight seemed unfazed, but his eyes were closed and jaw set. 

“Am I hurting you?” she chanced, unnerved by the silence between them. 

“It’s nothing,” he replied, his voice steady, and despite the echo still present even in his whisper, she could hear the accent it hid underneath better now.

When she finished cleaning the fresh wounds, she applied a healing pomade around the edges and wrapped his lower torso in frostweave bandage. 

“How did you know what to do?” he grabbed her hand once she was finished.

His grip was firm around her wrist. “A good fighter should know everything about the other races and classes. One should care for a death knight’s wounds, lest they further decay your body. Just because you’re _dead_ doesn’t mean you need to look like _the_ undead.” 

He scoffed. “So you think you know me?”

“I don’t presume to—”

The hold he had on her wrist turned painful. When she looked in his eyes, they burned brighter and grew bigger; his nails turned into claws and hair covered his entire body.

Daenerys gasped. She invited the wolf straight into her home.

_Stupid girl._

~*~*~

The blood elf’s violet eyes widened in disbelief as Jon finally let his true form take over. 

Jon grasped her pretty neck with his other hand. 

He rolled his neck, opened his jaw, passing his tongue over his teeth, adjusting back to his true form. Staying in human form for too long took a toll on him; somehow, it still held the marks of his old master, deeply seared into his soul, the pain he had inflicted still lingered after all this time, in forms of whispers in his darkest moments and constant anguish. He liked his true form better; his senses were more alert and his agility and stamina were just incomparable. 

The initial shock must have worn off, because she started chanting. 

“I told you I could still kick your arse, princess,” he squeezed in warning, just so that she wouldn’t blast him. 

The elf looked him over. Had she even ever seen a worgen before? Definitely not this close.

She looked a fragile little thing, it would be so easy to snap her like a twig. Yet something in her eyes didn’t show fear; he knew what fear smelled like, and this wasn’t it. The longer the silence stretched between them, with his claws wrapped around her pale neck, her steady pulse throbbing against his palm, the less he wanted to hurt her. 

Jon remembered how she killed that cocksucking rogue: for a tiny blood elf who took pity on her enemy, she surely didn’t show any mercy to anyone else from the Alliance. He could still hear his screams as she burned him to a crisp without hesitation. In that moment all he could think about was how beautiful she looked. This tiny silver-haired elf was a living dichotomy; soft but strong, merciful and merciless. 

Her violet eyes watched him intently, waiting. 

“But you saved me, so I owe you.” Jon freed her and leaned back in the bed that was definitely smaller now that he had changed forms.

“You’re worgen,” she coughed, air flowing normally through her lungs again. 

“Aye.”

The girl massaged her neck with her tiny pale hand; he almost felt sorry for being so rough. _As sorry as one can be for a Horde fighter_. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“You didn’t ask.” Jon scoffed. If there was something people hated more than a death knight, it was a worgen. “Do you draw the line at saving a mutt?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not very intelligent, are you?” She took a few steps back, but still he couldn’t smell fear on her. “It would have helped to better care for you.”

 _Care_. The word alone made Jon’s insides turn. There was no such thing as selfless care. After all, as blood elves loved reminding people, everything had a price. She smoothed out her moonlight hair; her long beautiful braid was coming undone. Did she braid it herself? The room started spinning again; before he knew it, he was sick on the floor, black liquid coming out of him. Then everything turned black. 

His arms and legs were bound with heavy chains; he was nowhere and everywhere at once, the metal scraped against his skin, pulling and pulling on his limbs until his screams filled the void. Then the void was inside of him. His past self—just a ghost, locked away in a corner of his mind, never to be let out. He was alone. There was not one soul waiting for him nowhere in this world, in this life or any other. Jon Snow existed no more. He was but a shell, a tortured soul filling a carcass that once belonged to a boy who’d hoped to save the world. 

_Ashes to ashes._

There was only pain and suffering now. 

When he came to, she was hovering over him, brows furrowed, more silver hairs poking out of her brain, framing her small face in a messy halo. Her hands were warm; he’d felt it back in the snow, despite the many layers separating them. But now her fingers painlessly burned him. If she realised he was conscious, she didn’t show it. He noticed it before, when she first bandaged him, her skill was impressive, she wasn’t just another smug blood elf pretending to be better than the rest of them: she knew exactly how to treat him. He could tell that she was trying her hardest to clean up his wounds without hurting him. Jon didn’t care about that, pain was his constant companion; he would barely be able to tell the difference. 

She worried her bottom lip every time she passed the damp cloth over his gaping wounds. All Jon could think about was whether her lips were as soft as they looked. 

Her purple eyes shot up at him. “I’m not sure you’re aware, but it’s rude to stare.”

Jon could only grunt, having been caught red-handed. 

“Your wounds ripped open again. I think it was from your... _transformation_. Sit up so I can bandage you back,” she ordered as if it was the most normal thing. 

Jon realized then that he was human again. _Odd_. He obeyed, not that he could ignore her request. She’d probably use her magic to incapacitate his stubborn arse and still bandage him; she didn't seem like she was one to take no for an answer. 

“There was poison in one of the wounds, but I think I cleaned most of it now. Some of it might linger in your body still. I would say that your transformation activated it again.”

She tucked the end of the bandage at his back to secure it in place, then pushed on his chest to make him lean back against the headboard. Her palms burned him, but the smell of charred flesh never came. 

She hissed as she sat back in the chair that was now next to the bed. 

He remembered that the rogue had gotten to her too. 

“Your wound.” On an impulse, he reached out.

“It’s fine,” she waved him off. “I already took something for the poison, I just need to clean and dress it,” she winced as she sat up straighter. “But first, you need to eat.”

The girl pulled closer a wooden crate and turned it upside down. She moved her hands around the box in delicate yet precise gestures; her fingers danced over the box; her voice was barely above a whisper as she recited the spell. Out of thin air, her mockup table filled with juicy meat cuts, hard cheeses, fruit and ale. 

“The bloody cuts will help speed your recovery,” she offered, pushing the table to him. 

Jon wasn’t hungry; he didn’t know what hunger was anymore. Again, he obeyed her, knowing that she was right in her assessment. It seemed that she knew how to properly heal worgen too. 

She ate as well, popping in her mouth small pieces of cheese and grapes, avoiding his gaze. Perhaps it was the fact that the meat was enchanted, yet something made it taste different, better. He gulped down as much as he could, and for the first time since his death he felt sated. 

“You never said your name,” he finally mustered up some courage to say after they finished eating. 

“You never asked,” her silver eyebrows raised. They reminded Jon of his first set of armour back when— “It’s Daenerys.”

“Jon,” he replied when she stared expectantly. 

His vision blurred. 

“Just lie down, it will pass,” he heard her say before the void took him again.

This time he was being encased in a block of ice; he felt it passing through his veins, freezing every vessel and organ in its wake. He gasped for air but there was none; his heart beated slower and slower, until it too, became a block of ice. He was still alive—but at what cost? 

_Ashes to ashes._

The room was almost pitch black, save for a candle flickering in front of him. On the table that sat opposite the bed, Daenerys was struggling to cleanse the wound in her lower back. She had taken off her dressing gown and was only wearing her leggings. Her braid was draped over one of her breasts. He watched intently how they rose and fell with every breath she took. Jon felt warm again; he just couldn’t tear his eyes off her, his hands itching to caress the underside of her small breasts, wanting to confirm that her skin was as soft as it looked. 

He stared as she missed again the part of her wound she was trying so hard to reach. From his vantagepoint, it didn’t look too deep. Still, he supposed he should help her; once it would have been in his nature to do so. _Isn’t that what got me here in the first place, putting others first?_

The wooden floor creaked under his feet. Her eyes shot up to where he stood. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” She scolded him. 

“Nowhere. Here.” He moved slowly across the room. Although weak, he was in a much better state than when she’d found him, of that he was certain. 

Daenerys didn’t flinch when he reached her. Nor did she shy away from him, despite her— _their_ —state of undress. Even without his armour he still towered over her. In this moment, she looked nothing like the deadly weapon he knew she was. She looked soft and stunning; the candle flickered. Finally he reached for the damp piece of cotton in her hand. 

“Let me.” He didn’t know that his voice could even sound pleading anymore. Daenerys didn’t fight him on it. She swallowed once, but turned around and bent slightly, bracing her hands on the table. 

For the first time since he’d fallen, Jon wondered whether his touch was as cold as he felt. He couldn’t help but think how harsh his skin felt against hers, his scarred and calloused hands. Jon wished he could be as gentle as she’d been with him. When the cotton first touched her wound, her skin erupted in gooseflesh and her fingers gripped the table harder.

Again, he tried as gently as he could to clean it, digging hard through what was left of his memories to remember how much pressure he should apply, all the while glancing in the mirror at her facial expressions.

Daenerys’ entire body was tense, her eyes tightly shut, and he worked as fast and gentle as he could. It did cross his mind that she was counting the moments until he was done. Why did the thought make him feel sick? 

He frowned, refusing to admit that the thought hurt him, as he secured the netherweave bandage tightly around her flat lower stomach. She didn’t move though, not when his icy cold fingers brushed against her belly and not when he finally stopped touching her. He was a monster. Why should he care anyway what a blood elf thought of him? 

_I should have killed her when I had the chance._

~*~*~

When Jon left her side, she found herself yearning for him to come back. Her cheeks still burned as the ghost of his calloused fingers lingered on her goosepricked skin. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought that he was trying hard to be gentle with her. If only she could control how her own body reacted to him. It had been years since she’d let anyone touch her like that. The ones she’d taken to bed were always for carnal needs, just two beings selfishly seeking their own release—there was nothing more. 

Sometime between Icecrown and his worgen transformation something had shifted between them. _Does Jon feel it too?_

As he slowly made it to the bed, she willed the heat in her cheeks away while reaching for her dressing gown. The silky fabric glided over her now perked nipples; she ignored how her entire body ignited at the sensation, her nerves begging her for more, heat slowly pooling in her lower belly. 

She watched Jon plop onto the bed, as if his wounds meant nothing. His expression was sour. 

“If I knew it would be that much of a bother to help me out, I wouldn’t have accepted,” she challenged his foul mood. 

He grunted, his icy blue eyes sending a shiver down her spine. “I only helped because you were bothering me.”

“Oh?” Daenerys approached the bed, taking her previous seat. 

“I could hear your grunts and huffs from the other side.” 

Jon provided no further explanation what he meant by _the other side_. But Dany knew the stories: it was said that death knights were once prohibited sleep—just another way to torture them, she supposed. Instead, when gravely injured, their minds experienced sudden spells of absence. Maesters said that their mind did it to recover, yet Jon didn’t seem at peace the times he fell to it. 

“Either way, I am most grateful,” she replied, wanting to continue the discussion. 

“Does this mean we’re even now?” Despite the chill in his voice, she could swear there was a playful hint to it. Or maybe she was finally getting used to the otherworldly sound. 

She smiled smugly. “Not even close.”

“How about this, next time when you’re raiding, I’ll watch your back until you’re safely away.” Dany could swear she saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

“Is that what happened to you?” She almost regretted asking when his entire mood seemed to slip. 

“Aye. We almost got wiped. I think I was the only one to make it out...just barely.” Jon leaned his head back against the headboard, eyes closed.

“And then those arseholes jumped you,” she continued. 

He hummed. 

“Fucking cunts.”

“That they are. But I let my guard down and paid for it.”

“I don’t understand what’s the point. I thought it was clear who our _true_ enemy was.”

“Some think it’s still me.”

There was nothing that enraged her more than people’s prejudices. “But you broke free from him. You are no longer under his control. And before you died you were an Alliance fighter through and through. Is this how they repay you?” The candles flickered, the flames raised higher as her anger boiled. 

Had they not been fighting amongst each other long enough now? Had they not made a pact to destroy the Lich King? Yet here they were, not only bickering like children to decide if the Horde or the Alliance should be on top, but turning against their own. 

Jon gently grabbed her hand, his face soft. “Daenerys.”

The flames dimmed to tiny flickers. The coolness radiating from his skin soothed her fire. 

“Believe me, shall our paths cross again, I will tear their bodies apart with my own fangs.” 

“Good.” When she looked down at their hands, he immediately pulled his away. 

Jon seemed uncomfortable now. Dant shifted back in her seat. 

“I should apply some more salve to your wounds.” This time, he didn’t fight her on it; he moved and did as instructed. “Does it hurt?” she finally asked. 

“Not as much as it should. But it does. Less so when I’m in my true form.” 

“Would you rather turn now?”

“I’m feeling quite well taken care of,” he winced as she pulled on the bandage to secure it. “You weren’t scared before.” Jon stilled her left hand on his chest. 

It wasn’t a question. Still, she shook her head.

“Perhaps you should be scared,” he whispered, staring at her lips. 

“You’re not the scariest beast I’ve seen.” Her voice dropped low, matching his tone. All she could think about was the way his big hand enveloped hers in a soothing cool touch. It felt like fresh snow, slowly melting as it came in contact with her warm body. 

It only took a moment longer before Jon lunged. _Finally_ , his lips touched hers in a bruising kiss; it felt just like sparring: exhilarating and breathtaking. She wasn’t used to using her small sword as much, but she had one that she very much enjoyed using. 

His tongue passed over her teeth again, and she sank her teeth in his lower lip; by his moan, he loved that. Nothing felt as right as kissing Jon did. Here there were no allegiances to the Horde or the Alliance, there were only the two of them, a worgen and a blood elf, tasting each other.

Dany wasn’t the type to let herself be conquered this easily; she loved being in control for the better part of her life. So she climbed in his lap, her teeth pulling on his bottom lip, nails dragging on his scalp, her fingers winding around his long black curls, until she found the strip of leather keeping it bound; she pulled on it and let his hair spill around his face. Dany pulled back just so she could admire him—with his hair like this he looked younger, almost innocent. Jon pulled her back to him, seemingly not done with the taste of her lips. His tongue wrapped around hers again and again as she was fighting with the laces of his breeches. He moaned in her mouth as she finally undid them and palmed his length. 

“Daenerys,” he whispered against her lips as she slowly fisted him, spreading the precum around the head of his cock and down his shaft. His hand went to the back of her head where he pulled on her hair, exposing the column of her neck to him. 

He licked her from between her breasts up to her mouth.The gesture felt primal and she wanted more; her cunt squeezed around nothing as his teeth sank into her neck, just around her pulse. His mouth peppered dizzying spells on her chest and neck. She felt herself slip into an intoxicated state of mind, her arousal dripping down her thighs in slick rivulets. Her knees buckled when he touched a particularly sensitive spot and her hands flew to his shoulders, seeking purchase. She felt him smile against her skin at the way her body was responding to his every single touch. 

Suddenly, his hands dug into her waist and he picked her up as if she weighed nothing and put her on her feet next to the bed. He got up, pulling the hem of her dressing gown with him, until it was over her head and discarded on the floor. Triumphantly, he bent down to lick and nip at her breasts, tugging on her nipples until they got hard; she had half a mind to beg him to pull harder on them as he rolled each in between his thumb and forefinger.

Jon finally took pity on her as he continued his descent until he reached her belly button. She grabbed his shoulders for balance when he hooked the tips of his fingers into the waistband of her leggings and slowly— _much too slowly_ —he rolled them over her hips and arse. Her cunt glistened with her juices; she shivered when he exposed her to the cool air of the room. Jon came close to her, deeply inhaling her scent as her walls clenched again, desperately seeking release. Dany was ready to beg for some—any—release. But before she even had the chance to open her mouth, he buried his face in between her legs, his tongue licking her as much as he could in this awkward position. Jon’s hums of approval made her even more wet. 

Much too soon he stopped to pull the leggings down the rest of the way. Again, as if she was weightless, he pulled her into his lap as he sat down. She wanted to reach down to his cock and impale herself with it, her patience running thin. But Jon had other plans, as he shimmied down on the bed, until he lay flat on his back. Next, he hooked his arms under her thighs and pulled her up, over his chest, until her cunt lined up with his mouth. When his tongue swiped against her, from her arsehole to her clit, she nearly collapsed on his face. He didn’t even give her a moment to recover, lapping and slurping her cunt as if it was dripping the sweetest nectar on Azeroth. 

Dany held tightly onto the headboard as he fucked her with his stiff tongue, occasionally sucking on her nether lips and on her clit. Soon she was riding his face like she would any steed. Jon’s moans spurred her on faster as his fingers dug into her hips, leaving deep where he was holding her up so she didn’t slip. He was relentless in his pursuit and didn’t stop until she came, shaking so hard he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing on the floor. He licked at her gently, until she slowly came off her high.

When she was no longer shaking, he hooked his arms under her thighs and slid her down his chest as easily as he did before. When she grasped his cock in her hand, ready to align it with her entrance, he sat up and kissed her again and again, until all she could taste was herself. 

Jon wasn’t in a rush; he was back to sucking on her breasts again, his teeth grazing her hard nipples. She was getting impatient; she wanted him inside her, filling her now. 

“Turn around,” he whispered after he was done teasing her. 

She pulled down his breeches until he was finally as naked as she was. Jon helped her turn and position herself in his lap, her back to him. He pushed her braid away to nibble on her shoulder, as she braced on his thighs to find balance. She felt his hand steadying her hips and with the other one, lining his cock to her slit. Dany pushed down on him and he entered her slowly, inch by inch, stretching her until he bottomed out. 

She was getting dizzy again, lost in the sensation of his cock filling her, in the way he rotated his hips to thrust deeper. As before, she eventually regained some control. 

When Dany opened her eyes, she was met by her own flustered reflection and Jon’s flaming eyes. He was watching her as she bounced on his dick, her teats jiggling with every thrust. 

“Look at how beautiful you are when I’m fucking you, princess,” he said as their eyes met in the reflection. 

Her cunt pulsed around him and he moaned in approval. Jon brought her back flush to his chest, reaching in front of her. Grinning, he rubbed her bundle of nerves, his gaze shifting from her breasts, to her cunt to her eyes. 

“Pinch your nipples,” he commanded when he felt she was getting close. ”Harder,” he moaned when she twisted and pulled on them. His fingers didn’t stop on her clit until her cunt clenched around his length in a vice. His moves grew more erratic until stars exploded in front of her eyes, her vision blurring until all she could see was a blotch of the reflection of their bodies twisted together. He followed her over the edge immediately after, as his teeth sank hard into her shoulder and his come filled her womb. 

They remained like this, for how long she couldn’t tell. Jon had licked the bitemark he left on her shoulder, soothing it with kisses, his hands palming her breasts, as their breathing finally slowed down to normal.

“Was this part of your healing method, princess?” he murmured against her back. 

“Did it work?” she asked.

“Aye, it did.” Jon turned her head to him to kiss her again. 

In that moment, she wasn’t quite sure who was healing whom. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo yeah, that happened 😏
> 
> If you're curious I made their specs here: [Jon's](https://worldofwarcraft.com/en-us/game/talent-calculator#death-knight/blood/talents=2221131) and [Dany's](https://worldofwarcraft.com/en-us/game/talent-calculator#mage/fire/talents=3322113). 
> 
> Also if you do not know the game or universe, this is how [Dany](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/37/3a/43/373a431dd406a0455dc723d90f8b3bcf.jpg) should look, but with violet eyes. Here the Mage carries a staff, but I gave her a sword for aesthetics lol. And this is what Jon should look like in [human](https://www.noupe.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/humandk2-682x1024.jpg) and [Worgen](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/2cb741b2-bd84-43ce-8008-c5e03407221b/d3g52m7-764b1aff-cbd8-4ea0-959f-0f4328965e6b.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMmNiNzQxYjItYmQ4NC00M2NlLTgwMDgtYzVlMDM0MDcyMjFiXC9kM2c1Mm03LTc2NGIxYWZmLWNiZDgtNGVhMC05NTlmLTBmNDMyODk2NWU2Yi5qcGcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.fvdWyqVwinWnCxjAD9VJeRNL_-REcHFZViBq9WYnfRM) form. Well, the closes fanart I could find haha. 
> 
> Thanks for reading 😉!


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